


The Residential Schedule

by moon_opals



Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation, Scrooge wants to raise his sister's children but Daddy says no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: 1989...For almost fifty years, Scrooge has accepted his incomplete family. No longer. It's time for the prodigal niece and nephew to come home.A.K.A. Scrooge fights a custody battle he never thought he'd have to.
Relationships: Fergus "McPapa" McDuck/Downy O'Drake, Scrooge McDuck/"Glittering" Goldie O'Gilt
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	The Residential Schedule

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Scroldie weekend, my headcanon is very simple and will most likely be debunked in upcoming episodes. Of course, I didn't write this during Scroldie weekend as was planned, but I'm still a little proud of it.

“I'm flattered you wanted to go vintage this time, but don't you think this is a little much,” Goldie rested on the armrest.

An early morning airplane ride, a crowded jeep ride through Glasgow, at last their final destination was in seeing distance. In between stops, each at her insistence than his, he required them to change their clothes into outfits fitting 1899 than 1989. Scrooge's grim expression hadn't folded; steering through the murky marshes under a twilight sky, the moon hidden behind a veil clouds, Scrooge's brow raised only an inch in her direction. Goldie's bait missed its mark, though neither expected him to fall for the trap in his current state of mind. Sticking to his vigilance, more determined than ever as a dense mist parted ahead to reveal a medieval castle within, Scrooge lifted his weight off the accelerator.

“They haven’t agreed in the past forty nine and a half years,” she continued, quietly. “I don’t want you disappointed for the tenth time.”

“Fifteen.”

“What?”

Slightly applying weight on the brakes, Scrooge slowed the jeep to the front yard. A magnificent fountain spurted water to Goldie's right, and at this distance she could see the castle in all its former glory. Recalling Scrooge's claims, Castle McDuck imposed a dreadful history but wasn't so different from the other castles she'd seen in her life. This wasn't the time to criticize architecture. 

“I’ve asked them thirty times in the past forty-nine and a half years," he clarified.

Her brow rose as her head dipped. “And you didn’t tell me,” she replied, curious instead of upset. 

“I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Understanding that wasn’t beyond her abilities. She leaned back in the chair, staring through the precipitated window, and she caught sight of the small figure captured in the side view mirror. Her head bobbed for every deep indentation Scrooge didn’t avoid. Her eyes were close. Her snores were quiet. 

In 1984 Goldie visited a pharmacy in Mouseton to nurse what she believed was a flu. At the time she would have described her symptoms as what was typical for someone suffering from the flu; dizziness, vertigo and rampant nausea. It seemed to fit the bill without needing to obtain a doctor’s bill. But then, as she stood waiting for the medication - the pharmacist eyed her suspiciously and said... _I don’t think you have the flu._

Goldie snorted, retort locked for maximum damage when her peripheral vision snapped to the pregnancy tests shelved directly to her left. Was it chance? Bad luck? Her stomach did seventeen backflips in three seconds, and she recalled a spell of lightheadedness she’d never felt and would never feel again in her life.

So she knew the play he’d inevitably play, and she knew the role she’d have to play. To their credit, he’d taken no chances this time, no unnecessary risks. She agreed for the simple reason there was nothing she could do to dissuade him, and any reason wasn't sufficient to try.

“Alright,” she sucked in through her teeth, “do you think they’ll listen to you this time?”

Scrooge slowed the Jeep to a complete stop in front of the castle entrance. He set the Jeep in park and stared at the closed door, willing them to make their appearance. 

“Mommy,” Opal murmured sleepily. “Can I play with the kids?”

“What?”

She blinked tiredly, using her wrists to rub her eyes. “The kids,” she repeated. She pointed to the top of the higher towers in the castle. “I wanna play with them.”

Scrooge and Goldie chased the line of direction up to the window where two heads peered down at them. Goldie winced, a little uneasy, but a pair of creepy twins couldn’t and wouldn’t deter Scrooge McDuck from his goal. 

The coal hard rim around his pupils told Goldie his resolve had driven deeper.

* * *

“I cannot believe it’s taken Scroogey this long for us to meet.”

Goldie chuckled thinly at the table. “Yes, my schedule has always been pretty full,” she grinned, prodding the sheep bladder with her fork, “but with Opal, things have settled somewhat.”

Downey McDuck was a positively downy woman. Goldie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a woman like her up front and personal. She’d gone above and beyond for her guests; Goldie sat front row to an extensive feast of meals she didn’t know the names of. Rather than push the plates away in disgust, she tried a little at a time. The sheep’s bladder was more than she could take, and she bore the endurance gleefully, smiling thankfully at the woman who reminded her vaguely of her mother.

Except softer, kinder and happier, more of what Golda O’Gilt used to be before life tossed its coin of tails instead of head.

“Mommy, I want more sheep bladder, please,” Opal said, pleading with her eyes that gestured patiently at the plate. _I can’t cut the slice myself_ , the gesture said, and Goldie sighed, chuckling as she sliced another.

What sounded like a snort came at the end of the table. Goldie winced. 

“At least we know you’re feeding the bairn,” Fergus grimaced. “But it’s a shame it took you five years for us to meet our youngest granddaughter.”

A quick glance spelled Scrooge’s reaction. His right eye ticked and twitched; his fists clenched around his fork and knife. His beak was also in a grimace, light compared to his father’s. 

“Opal was born after the mist returned,” Scrooge shouted across the table. “There wasn’t any way for you to meet her.” 

Opal was in the middle of gnawing her sheep bladder slice when her eyes widened. Releasing the meat, she looked at Scrooge. “Daddy,” she whispered, “no big voice at the table.”

Goldie and Downey chuckled; even Fergus’ grimace softened into a snort as Scrooge cheeks peppered into a bright scarlet.

“Sorry lass,” he said quietly. “I will use my small voice.”

She nodded sagely. “Can I go on play with Donald and Della now?”

“O’ course dearie,” Downey answered for them. “We’ve been waiting five years for you to! C’mon, I’ll show you.”

“I can do it, Granny,” Opal crawled out of her seat and scurried under the table. “We’ll play hide and seek!” 

Off she went without looking back. The sound of her feet echoed along with giggles as she called their names. “Donald, Della where are you?”

Most mothers would’ve knitted their brow in concern or sprinted after their child. There was no need to. Her daughter was a McDuck and bustled for an independent adventure of her own. In a way, she was safest amongst her kin. If things go well, Goldie mused, she’d have to get used to having them around. 

Upon her reflection, Goldie was reminded of the _real_ reason they’d come so far. Sitting at the right head of the table, Fergus placed his fork and knife to the side. He dabbed his beak with a napkin and sighed.

“Bold to use your daughter to persuade us,” Fergus shook his head. “Do you think we’d buckle so easily?”

Goldie winced and felt the wave of indignation radiating off of his Scrooge’s feathers. “You claimed I couldn’t raise a child,” Scrooge defended hotly. “I think we’re doing fine so far.”

Fergus scoffed. “We...I don’t believe it,” his attention snapped to Goldie. “She’s probably doing all the child rearing. As a mother would.”

“What,” the said in union, more shocked than confused. Goldie briefly flickered to Downey, whose brow had needled downward like a flock of birds.

Scrooge palms connected to the table, rattling the silverware. “I have you know -,”

Goldie snorted. The sound sliced through their rising argument, and all heads, distracted, turned to her. 

“I’m sorry,” Goldie drank from a goblet. Red wine sloshed down her throat. “I just couldn’t…,” she pointed her thumb at Scrooge, “you think I’m the primary parent?” 

“What?”

Going into the intimate details of their dynamic seemed intrusive, but silence wasn’t an option. Goldie drowned the rest of her wine, curving her arm on the table as she cocked a confident grin at her would be father-in-law.

“What? Scrooge did the late night diaper changes and bottle feeding and the dress she’s wearing? All him.”

“And Duckworth,” Scrooge added.

“Yes, Duckworth too," Goldie rolled her eyes. "You insisted we dress like we're coming out of the 1800s."

"Goldie, I was born in 1867. You were born in 1869."

"I'm helping you," she squared him down, harshly. "Do you want my help or not?"

Scrooge was silent, then nodded, "Proceed."

Straightening her dress, she grinned, "As I was saying, he takes her to every board meeting at the bin. I swear those vultures probably hate him for it.”

Scrooge chuckled, picking up a sweet roll. “Oh, they do, but she’s marvelous for stalemates, you.” Biting into it, he nodded enthusiastically, “She’s very observant.”

Goldie smirked; there was nothing wrong with their child rearing if unorthodox and nontraditional. She didn’t outright say it, leaving the possibility in the air, but considerations for parenthood was far off, a distant fantasy they hadn’t indulged in. Or Goldie hadn’t until the doctor told her, _Congratulations._

“Motherhood wasn’t on my agenda,” she confessed, staring into her curved reflection within the goblet. She could feel the weight of their gazes along her skin. “We made it work, but Scrooge,” she smirked, more out of old annoyances turned to fondness, “was made for a family, whether through having children the traditional way or taking in Donald and Della. They’d be good for him, and he'd be good for them and all that junk.”

Fergus listened, expression unmovable. She didn’t think he blinked the entire time. With his fingers entwined over his stomach, his glare hardened behind bifocals wide enough to cover his eyes. “I was tasked by my daughter,” he said slowly, narrowing the gaze at Scrooge, “your sister, Hortense and Quackmore. They asked us to protect their children, and I am not going to fail my grandchildren.”

Scrooge massaged his temples. It was an old, tired argument, an argument they ran circles in circles until Scrooge sought the children for a brief period of time before the mist’s hour struck again.

“Daddy, that was almost fifty years ago,” Scrooge said. “I don’t think Hortense would’ve wanted her children to live captive in a cursed castle for all eternity.”

“It’s better than whatever was chasing them,” Fergus countered. Anything was better than what pursued their daughter and sister; but their ignorance was the worst part. Hortense hadn’t parted with the family on a detailed note. Beyond the simple instructions of protecting Donald and Della, it was as if she had vanished without a trace. No amount of detective work or globe trotting managed to locate them, let alone what happened to Matilda. No one spoke about Matilda.

“Daddy, I’ll protect them. They’re my kin,” Scrooge spread his arms, “you think I’d be so foolish to endanger them willfully.” 

“Gallivanting around the globe ever since you were thirteen years old,” Fergus pointed out stonily, the hard rock edge to his voice sharpened, “what are you going to do with three children in your care.”

“Opal won’t start adventures until she’s at least eleven, and the children are just a year older than she is right now,” he bit back rudely, all pretenses of respect gone out of the memory. “In the past fifty years, Donald and Della haven’t had any way to count time. Imagine what they’d feel when they see she’s all grown up? Hmm...how will you explain that?”

Downey dropped her gaze to her folded hands, frown pronounced and deliberating. He released his arm fold to drum his fingers on the table, and the stare was smoother, shinier than a marble’s surface. Scrooge has never possessed that sort of pull in the past; rejuvenative methods made it possible for them to appear the same in most cases, despite the decades. 

It was the first time anyone in the room was confronted with age. The gesture of releasing his arms meant they’d caught something at last, and in spite of the pain, Goldie expected Scrooge wouldn’t let go of the line now that he had them hooked.

At least, some of the heat cooled in his tone. Less accusatory, more sympathetic. That was good. “Daddy, Quackmore’s family are still around. Aunt, uncle and cousins, and Elvira hasn’t seen her grandchildren in fifty years,” he swallowed, well aware the guilt was doing the job.

Fergus' jawline worked in a way that jutted his beak further than it should’ve. “How is Daphne,” he stumbled over the question, unsure. 

“She’s well.” He tilted his head, “And is the proud mother of a little boy. He’s around Donald and Della’s age.”

“Matilda was so fond of her,” Downey murmured quietly beside him. 

Turmoil bubbled in the woman’s face. Her thoughts, docile and quiet, started to contradict each other. Goldie couldn’t recall a time Scrooge described when his mother defied her husband openly. Like her own parents, they were born in a traditional time, a stricter period where gender norms were adhered to a ridiculous degree.

Goldie tucked her cheek into her palm, curious as to what this would lead. Gripping the neck of the goblet, she kept her beak shut - waiting for the moment to slip back into the conversation. It needed to be precise, a soft spot where she could bury her heels in. Matilda was such a spot, but Scrooge’s silence reassured her Matilda’s place was too tender for discussion. 

“Matilda was fond of many things,” Fergus dismissed. An iced glaze coated his tone. “And Daphne’s family could always come here.”

“And visit just for a night,” Scrooge argued, unable to hide the desperation in his anger. It was strange to hear them so entwined. “Elvira hasn’t seen her grandchildren in the past fifty years. Can you stop acting like you’re the only person who’s lost someone?”

A pin could’ve dropped in the dining hall. The ghosts of Castle McDuck could’ve whispered their commentary, and Goldie was positive someone would’ve heard them. Had Scrooge ever ventured that far with his parents? Raised eyebrows, wide eyes and barely audible gasps suggested no, he hadn’t until now. He’d never been so brave or daring with his parents. 

Grief of an untold nature encompassed their faces. Downey looked away, unable to hold back light tears. 

“I know that,” the burning tightness in his voice reached their ears. His throat throbbed. “Don’t you think I know that.”

Joy did not bloom with this reminder. His parents' loss was significant, a loss Scrooge never wanted to imagine; welcoming these children into their home - the last remnants of their youngest daughter was more than they could endure some days.

How did he know? His mummy told him so during their phone calls, but he wasn’t going to tell his daddy. 

He knew letting them remain here wasn't feasible, even if the threat wasn’t completely neutralized. He inhaled, rubbing his sentences together - rehearsing them for ultimate precision. He couldn’t lose them again this time; he couldn’t allow his daddy to win again.

“Hortense wanted her children to live,” Scrooge said quietly, anger spent and drowned under a wave of compassion. “She wanted them to thrive. Daddy, tell me how can they do anything if they stay here? Why deprive them of a life their parents wanted them to live?”

“Their parents wanted them to live.”

Scrooge growled in frustration, “Daddy, their parents aren’t here, and we don’t know when they’ll ever come back.” If...they came back; his weakened composure couldn’t force the possibility between his teeth.

Nonetheless, if surrounded them in a circle of horror and grief; both of which were thicker than the mist that entrapped them. If...was a fact none could come to terms with; the wills of father and son battled in continued silence, oblivious to the soft panting down the right corridor.

Goldie lifted her head and found her attention on said corridor. Her brow curved suspiciously. Numerous sounds slipped in and out of hearing in the castle. Scrooge’s warnings were clear in her mind, but these were different, more distinct and tangible. A sharp whine trudged forward, alongside whispers full of whispers and excitement.

Her hands lied flat on the table, and the chair screeched. Scrooge looked up, as did Fergus and Downey; she paid no attention to them. Goldie didn’t like to say she was worried - worried sounded so redundant and mundane, normal, yet the concern was present. Children, younger than ten, were playing in a haunted castle unsupervised. Goldie was doing worse at their age, but now , she swallowed, paying attention to the low whine in the distance.

“What are they up to,” she whispered, squinting the direction, waiting for the ball to drop.

“Goldie -,”

“Hush,” she raised a finger to her lips. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what,” they asked.

Goldie merely pointed at the opening where a pair of ghostly green eyes glared back at her. Her breath lodged in her throat, and a buzzing sound pounded in her ears. The kids...she thought, as silly as it felt to think it, the kids were there, and she distinctly recalled Scrooge telling her the Demon Hound of Castle McDuck was just a myth. Yes, a myth, so why were they standing no more than four feet from it?

“Bless me bagpipes,” Fergus whispered. “It is the cursed hound of Clan McDuck. Sir Quackley’s faithful hound.”

“But where are the children,” Downey said beside him, reaching for the largest spoon she could find. “I swear,” she growled suddenly, “if he laid a paw on me wee bairns -,”

“Wait, Mummy,” Scrooge hissed. “Look.”

And they did. The demonic entity stumbled into clear view. Its legs wobbled, knees buckled and it collapsed, without reason, onto the elaborate rug in front of the fireplace. Heaves came out in deep breaths, and they rushed near, Downey clutching Fergus' arm to peer.

Still panting, the massive hound did nothing as a hand patted its head, and from below the head, hidden behind its large shoulders, was a little girl’s head. She wore an aged sailor’s dress with a red bow; her hair, a whitish blond, was curved around her cheeks, cut right above the nape of her neck. She smiled gleefully, sneakily. “Good doggie,” she patted again, and she looked over her shoulder. “Hey Donald, Opal was right. All we needed was to give the doggie an incentive!”

Confusion gave way to understanding, but none of the present adults were able to process what they’d seen. Generational stories told of the hound - the guardian of the famed Templar treasure; vicious in its pursuit of trespassers, no intruder (McDuck or not) had survived an encounter. Yet...yet...no, Goldie and Scrooge covered their mouths. 

Donald and Opal appeared, with the latter going around to the head. “Good job, puppy,” she patted his cheek. “You deserve a reward.” Before either parent could stop her (or think to stop her), she pulled out a bone three sizes larger than her own body. A femur, Goldie guessed - due to its size and width, but what sort of man could have a femur that large.

“Sir Roast McDuck,” Scrooge answered. At her silent question, he smirked. “What,” he shrugged. “I knew what you’re thinking.”

“Tch,” she rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, kids,” she stepped forward, “what is up with your new...friend?”

“It was Della and Opal,” Donald pointed. “I told them we couldn’t go searching for the treasure. I wanted to bake cookies.”

“Hey,” Della rolled off the dog’s back. She stomped to her brother, pointing him in the chest, “We both wanted treasure. Opal wanted to play with the doggie.”

“I did,” Opal said. She’d managed to get a good grip on the dog’s head, kneeling beside him with her eyes closed. Resting her head against his, she sighed dreamily, content. “Puppy wanted to play with me, so I played.”

Goldie and Scrooge smiled. Of course...the allure of treasure hadn’t caught Opal just yet, but staring at the arguing twins, the family trait of adventure finally found its place in the new generation.

“Children,” Fergus spread his arms. “Y’know to go down to the dungeons. It’s dangerous down there.”

“And most importantly,” Downey kneeled in front of them, inspecting for injuries, “only the laird of the castle knows where the treasure is held.”

Della and Donald wrestled in her grip, trying to escape her hold as she kissed their cheeks and foreheads. “But Gammy,” they whined, “we did find the treasure, and Donald broke the cup.”

“Oh sweetie,” she patted his cheek. “I’m sure we can replace the cup with something else.”

“And I won’t get into trouble?”

“Course not, darling,” Fergus said. “We’re just happy you’re safe.”

Donald exhaled, a weight lifted. He dug through his pockets and pulled out the cup he’d broken. Its stem was completely snapped off its bowl, but that wasn’t what choked the adults into silence. Shimmering, splendid gold winked at them; bejeweled in emeralds, rubies, pearls and sapphires. 

Fergus and Scrooge gawked. Goldie balked, unable to comprehend what she was seeing and at the same time did.

In an instant, questions sped at the children. Who? How? What? When? This unwarranted attention brightened Della’s mood, and she stepped forward, more than eager to explain.

“Donnie and I found the path but couldn’t work the puzzles exactly.”

“We’d always argue.”

“I said we should’ve turned left, Dumdella.”

“Shuddap, Quack-Mush.”

Downey clucked sharply. “Children, language.”

“Sorry, Grammy.” They inhaled, focusing on their story, “But Opal’s good at puzzles.”

“It’s true,” Opal murmured quietly, nuzzled in the hound’s side, “I like puzzles, then we found a new, big room.”

“So what happened next,” Scrooge urged, almost drooling, “where’s the treasure, kids. Tell us.”

Donald looked to Della who looked at Opal, who merely shrugged, slipping her thumb into her mouth. 

“There wasn’t anything,” Donald said. “Just this cup and some coins and -,” his eyes drew wide as if he’d forgotten something important, “and this. We found this in the cup.” He pulled out a letter, handing it to Downey. Unfolding it, Downey was the first to read, and she brought a hand to her mouth, a little gasp hushed on her tongue.

“Oh my,” she swallowed.

“What,” Fergus was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong, dear?”

Downey shook her head, pressing the letter to her heart. “Fergus, love,” she nodded, closing her eyes, “you ought to read this, and read it aloud. I want, no, they want everyone to know.”

He stared reluctantly at the letter she offered. “I...very well,” he swallowed. “I suppose.” He straightened his bifocals, cleared his throat, and read...   
  
_“To our darling Della and Donald, nothing weighs heavier on our hearts knowing we are so far away from you. One day, perhaps, we will reunite, but know you are loved and adored. Here is a small incentive for you to seek greater adventures and riches than this dusty old one we’ve found.We do not apologize for taking our portion. Although not the first to find it, Daddy and Scrooge were too slow, and we were impatient._

_To our nieces, nephews and grandchildren we have yet to meet, know the world is greater, brighter than you could ever imagine, and we hope you will see its beauty beyond its wealth, the value unseen, as we have._  
_There’s a lifetime of adventure awaiting you. Go out and find it!”_

\- _**Love, Mummy and Auntie Mim**_

On the last word, their breaths shuddered, and they smiled at each other, while the children looked, not completely confused. Fergus folded the letter and slipped it into his breast pocket. He smacked his mouth loudly, blinking away tears threatening to spill.

“I see,” he rasped. He turned to face Scrooge, opening his arms helplessly. “It appears Hortense had considered this very thing,” he chewed on his cheek, “it could’ve been easier had she left it in a more convenient location.”

“You know our Tensy,” Downey dabbed at her eyes. “She always did what she wanted. She and Tilly. You couldn’t stop them when their minds were set.”

“But still,” Fergus sighed, “a portion of the treasure. I wonder what happened to the rest they didn’t claim.”

“What does it matter now,” Downey said, walking towards Scrooge, clasping his hand, “Hortense made her desires wrong. I think it’s time we prepared our wee ones for the greater world, dear.”

“Not us, love,” Fergus smiled ruefully. An ache was clear in the way the smile rolled, curved halfway at the corners of his mouth. “We’re...too late, I think, but Scrooge,” he inhaled deeply, “how about it kids, do you want to go with your Uncle Scrooge?”

“Uncle Scrooge?” For the first time since they arrived, they noticed his presence, and without wasting another second, they clamored at him, jumping into his spread arms as question after question slipped out of their mouths.

Goldie stepped aside, smiling, and more than a little relieved. “How sweet,” she murmured. “Um...where’s Opal?”

Downey chuckled. “The sweet lamb fell asleep on the demon hound,” she pointed, and there Opal was, eyes closed and snores light.

“She had a long trip,” she grinned. And so will these kids, she mused, then she found the two halves of the golden cup now in Downey’s hand. Oh, that seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The alignment of the jewels and the cup’s splendor, while renowned, appeared to carry a mystical element.

“Excuse me, Downey,” she tapped the woman’s shoulder, “do you mind if I see that?”

“Oh, of course, dearie.”

Yes, she tested the neck and bowl, this is real gold. But why? Why did it feel different holding this cup than any other golden goblet she’d held in the past? Her mind raked over the possibilities, and eventually fell on the most obvious one. Oh. Standing next to her mother in law - not quite her mother in law but Scrooge wasn’t prepared to tell them they’d conceived out of wedlock, Goldie slipped the broken cup into the pocket she’d stitched into the dress. 

“Humor me, Downey,” she mumbled to Downey, as the two watched the men embrace the children, chattering amongst themselves. “How does a six year old break the Holy Grail?”

“Bless your heart,” she sighed, hands clasped tightly, “Hortense broke The Sword of State back in 1887, and she felt just awful about it. So we used some animal glue to fix it right up.”

“And no one asked about it?”

“None who mattered,” she winked.

“Huh,” she clicked her tongue, grinning. “It seems Scrooge doesn’t get his sharpness from his father.”

“Oh no,” Downey laughed, hand on her breast. “Fergus is a good man, but not an exceptionally clever one.”

A thousand and one questions ran through Goldie’s mind in that instant, but the sounds of tears and laughter echoed. Looking on, disturbing the peace they’ve fought hard to achieve and accepting the inevitable change, she bumped the woman’s shoulder silently. A sign of encouragement, and possibly thanks.

“I’m glad Scroogey’s found a lass who keeps him on his toes,” Downey whispered, the twinkle in her eyes brighter than ever. “It’ll be quiet once they leave, but we’ll adjust. It’s what Clan McDuck does.”

“Adjust,” she repeated quietly. Wasn’t that what they’ve always done, whether they wanted to or not? Goldie tried to imagine the future Scrooge envisioned and shook her head; the future was only a distant glimmer. No need to worry over what wasn’t realized yet.

“Lets just make sure the kid doesn’t turn into a pillar or something,” she grinned, crossing her arms. 

Oh, he's got a bucket load of trouble waiting for him, Goldie wasn’t an accountant and didn’t need to be one to calculate the high costs. I don’t think he’d have it any other way.

A phantom’s whisper groaned, no lighter than the wind's chime, but nonetheless, Goldie welcomed the sound. A blessing, perhaps?

**Author's Note:**

> Donald breaking the Holy Grail and the pillar of salt is a reference to Don Rosa's "A Letter From Home" where Donald does break the Holy Grail and one of the triplets joke about him turning into a pillar of salt. I love that story. It is MY favorite Don Rosa story. I am a little peeved Donald didn't join in on that adventure. It would've made for very interesting conversation if Donald was there.
> 
> Naturally, this leads to questioning why Scrooge visits his parents in 'The Secret of Castle McDuck' if the children already found the treasure years ago. In this Universe, lets say he struck up a deal with his parents later and tried to keep it throughout the years. Della's disappearance didn't stop him, but the dinners were much colder afterwards. (No, Donald, Della and Opal really don't understand that the former two are considerably older.)
> 
> [ Heythatsdeep's gorgeous art is what I had in mind when writing this.](https://heythatsdeep.tumblr.com/post/621488376098521088/a-snapshot-of-a-path-not-walked-and-the-fruits-of)
> 
> Scrooge was adamant to convince his parents, and as always, all feedback is appreciated!


End file.
